


Just A Day

by QueenoftheHobbits



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Gen, Little bit of angst, Mostly Fluff, a return home/on leave fic, no pronouns or descriptors are used for the reader in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 07:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16035848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheHobbits/pseuds/QueenoftheHobbits
Summary: You greet Alex at the train station after Dunkirk and bring him home. For however long the war allows.





	Just A Day

“You have no idea how terrified I was...” You mumble it into his jacket because even though he smells like dirt and oil and sea water, he’s here. That’s what matters. You’d been absolutely petrified, everyone knew what was happening in Dunkirk, everyone knew that it was a bloody terrible situation. But no one knew who was alive, who was dead, who would return to England and who wouldn’t. Whether or not the war was going be over, if you were going to surrender.

When Alex joined the Army you knew it was going to be hard. He was going off to war and you weren’t naive nor ignorant of the fact that you’d spend most of it scared for him. But you never imagined how horrible it could be knowing he was in direct danger, but not knowing how he was. 

“’m sorry...I...”

“You don’t have to talk about it...” You can’t imagine what he’s been through in the last 48 hours. He looks so haggard that you know it wasn’t an easy ride out of Dunkirk that whatever happened there was terrifying, terrible, and something that no one should ever experience. But that was war.

He presses his lips to your temple and just sighs, “Thanks, love” You know he’ll have to go back soon, that he’ll get orders to go to a base and then be sent back out to France. But until then you’re going to take him home, get him a nice bath, and as good a meal as possible with the rationing on. 

“Lets go home” You pull away and grab his hand, pulling him from the station platform and down the road. Home’s been so far away for him for so long. He hasn’t had leave since the war began and its been so long since he’s seen it. He forgot how home could feel. 

The walk is a relatively short one, the streets are busy however, men in uniform can be seen at every turn and everyone seems to be out on the streets to greet them. He hasn’t seen this much joy in quite a while and its jarring considering the past 48 hours have been filled with anger, frustration, fear, death...

The house looks the same as when he left. The red front door’s pain peeling slightly, the number 89 crooked. The brick and mortar the same, the plants still trying to take over the house. A deep breath leaves him, his shoulders fall, relax, and he’s reminded that he’s safe now, he’s home. Even if its for a little while and he’s going to make the most of however little that while is. 

You pull him into the house and close the door behind you, giving him a few moments to take in the familiar surroundings, the hallway, the stair case, the kitchen, the living room, the settee that he found on the side of the road and decided would do until you had a little more money. You had both worked incredibly hard for this house, for everything in it, and you’d planned on making it a proper home right when the war started. You should have seen it coming, known that that flimsy peace treaty Chamberlain procured would do little in the end. But optimism was a funny thing, as was hindsight. 

“It looks the same.”

“I tried not to change anything...it reminded me of you and I...I thought you’d want it to be the same when you came home.” Every day you thought of Alex, thought of the past, but also thought of the present. How was he? How was he feeling? Was he okay? Was he fed well? Was he warm? Did he miss you the way you missed him?

“What if I hadn’t? Come home, I mean.” He turned to you, brow furrowed in obvious pain at the thought, at how close he’d come to not coming home. Your own face drops at the thought. 

“Then it wouldn’t have changed it. Ever.” You mean it, every little thing reminds you of him, of your relationship. From the ratty settee he found, to the pictures on the walls to the ugly vase his mother had brought the two of you as a house warming gift. If he was no longer around, if you no longer had him, then at least you would have the little memories attached to the items in your home. 

He knows he has to come back then. Not just because he wants to, but because he can’t hurt you like that. He doesn’t ever want to cause you to feel that sort of pain. He knows its stupid to think that he’ll definitely survive this war, but at the very least he’ll try his damned best. 

“Why don't you go have a bath? Get some clean clothes on, i’ll start on dinner. Think you could do with a good meal, love.”

“’m famished.” He is, he’s gone at least a day without eating anything and his stomach long since stopped complaining, knowing it was getting nowhere. But real, honest to god, home cooked food? That was something he desperately wanted. A bath sounded good. Clean clothes sounded good. The small comforts of life just sounded good. 

“Go on.” You press a quick kiss to his lips, like you always did, like the habit hadn’t been broken at all by the war. Urging him to go upstairs before turning to the kitchen. 

Even if you had a day you’d make the most of that day with him. A day where it was him and not his letters that greeted you. Just having him here for a day was enough to keep you going. 


End file.
